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:an-Marie:  a  Play  in  One 
ct :  by  Andre  ^heuriet: 
ranslated  by  Barrett  H. 
lark 


arnuel  French:  Publisher 

28-30  West  Thirty-eighth  Street  :   New  York 


LONDON 


Samuel  French:  Ltd. 

26    SOUTHAMPTON    STREET,    STRAND 

PRICE  TWENTY-FIVE  CENTS. 


THE  WORLD'S    BEST    PLATS 
BY  CELEBRATED    EUROPEAN   AUTHORS 

BARRETT  H.     CLARK 
CENIRAL   EDITOR 


Jean-Marie:  a  Play  in  One 
Act :  by  Andre  Theuriet: 
Translated  by  Barrett  H. 
Clark 


Samuel  French:  Publisher 

28-30  West  Thirty-eighth  Street :   New  York 


LONDON 


Samuel  French:  Ltd. 

2f3    SOUTHAMPTON    STREET,    STRAND 


COPYRIGHT.  1915, 
BY  SAMUEL  FRENCH 


AXDRfi  THEURIET. 

Theuriet  is  better  known  as  a  novelist,  and  it  is 
perhaps  for  that  reason  that  this  little  play  possesses 
a  certain  charm  which  might  be  lacking  in  a  more 
abrupt  and  "  dramatic  "  handling  of  the  same 
theme. 

"  Jean-Marie ",  first  produced  in  Paris  at  the 
Odeon  (1871),  with  Sarah  Bernhardt  as  Therese, 
has  held  the  stage  from  the  first. 


The   simplest  of   settings  and  costumes  are   re- 
quired. 


JEAN-MARIE. 

PERSONS  REPRESENTED. 

THERESE 

JEAN-MARIE 

JOEL 

SCENE: — A  small  cottage  by  the  Sea,  in  Brittany, 
TIME:— The  present    (1871). 


JEAN-MARIE. 


SCENE  : — Interior  of  a  BRETON  farm-house.  To  the 
right,  dozvn-stage,  is  a  deep  and  high  fireplace ; 
near  this  is  an  old  chair.  Half-way  up-stage 
on  the  same  side  is  a  door  leading  into  the  next 
room.  To  the  left  is  an  old  cupboard.  Down- 
stage, are  a  table,  a  leather  chair,  and  a  few 
stools.  In  the  upper  right-hand  corner  of  the 
room  is  a  window1  looking  out  on  the  sea-cliff. 
Center  is  an  arched  doorway,  through  which 
land  and  sea  can  be  observed. 

As  the  curtain  rises  THERESE  is  standing  by 
the  open  window,  busied  with  flax  and  a  spindle. 
She  sings  softly  as  she  works: 

THERESE.     (Singing) 

''  The  brig  sailed  past  out  over  the  sea 
With  its  sails  and  masts  so  high; 

The  Saint  Azenor  flew  like  a  bird 
And  a  thousand  stars  filled  the  sky." 

(She  suddenly  breaks  off  and  looks  out  through  the 
door)  The  seagulls  are  crying  so  mournfully  this 
evening!  There  on  the  beach  their  cries  mingle 
with  the  moan  of  the  ocean :  I  never  hear  them 
without  thinking  of  this  old,  old  ballad.  (She  sits 
down  and  sings  again) 

'  The  captain  brave  was  nearly  dead, 
Thru  billows  did  he  roam; 


6  JEAN-MARIE. 

But  the  stout  ship  took  him  on  and  on 
Till  it  brought  him  to  port — and  home !  " 

(Once  again  interrupting  herself)  And  he  never 
left  his  port  again  or  his  home,  the  singer  who 
wrote  that.  I  too  have  prayed  to  the  saints  and  the 
Holy  Virgin ;  in  vain  I  have  lighted  candles — the 
Saints  are  deaf  to  me,  and  the  sea  never  gives  back 
the  sailors  it  has  taken — (She  lets  her  spindle  fall, 
and  remains  in  a  pensive  attitude) 

(Enter  JOEL  at  the  back.) 

JOEL.  (Laying  a  packet  on  a  sto&l)  Good-day, 
wife ! 

THERESE.  (Surprised)  Joel!  (She  quickly 
dries  a  tear  and  rises) 

JOEL.  You  didn't  expect  me  before  night — but 
I've  done  some  good  strokes  of  business.  This  time 
I  didn't  stay  to  drink  with  my  friends,  but  came 
home  at  once  with  a  good  sackful  of  money. 

THERESE.  (Smiling)  Good.  I  am  sure  your 
own  wine  will  taste  better.  Here  is  something  to 
keep  you  from  regretting  the  inn — (She  goes  to  the 
cupboard  and  brings  a  bottle  and  a  glass,  and  lays 
them  on  the  table  before  JOEL) 

JOEL.  Thanks,  thanks,  Therese.  (He  drinks) 
Splendid!  (He  looks  at  THERESE,  zvho  has  just 
picked  up  her  distaff)  Why,  you  don't  seem  at 
all  anxious  ?  I've  come  from  the  town — and  on  a 
market-day — and  there  you  sit,  not  at  all  interested. 
You  don't  even  ask  if  the  fair  was  pretty,  or  don't 
you  care  about  hearing  the  news  ? 

THERESE.  (Shaking  her  head  as  if  to  dispel  a 
thought)  I  am  sorry!  Forgive  me. l 

JOEL.  You're  so  absent-minded — you  seem  to 
be  dreaming — always  up  in  the  clouds.  What  are 
you  thinking  of  ? 

THERESE.     (Turning  to  JOEL,  after  taking  the 


JEAN-MARIE.  7 

bottle  and  glass  back  to  the  cupboard)  Now,  Joel, 
I'll  be  glad  to  hear  about  everything.  Did  you  sell 
your  grain  ? 

JOEL.  I  should  think  I  did!  You  never  saw  so 
many  people  in  the  market  in  all  your  life.  Every 
minute  there  came  more  cattle  and  more  people. 
The  howling  mob  overflowed  into  the  street.  Such 
busy  streets  and  full  inns  and  houses !  (He  goes 
to  get  the  package  on  the  stool  where  he  left  it  on 
entering)  I  have  your  share  on  what  I  sold,  and 
see  what  I've  brought  you!  (He  opens  the  package 
and  sJiO'ii'S  her  silks  of  various  bright  colors)  I 
don't  know  much  about  these  things,  but  tell  me,  do 
you  like  them  ?  The  people  who  sold  them  told  me 
that  they  came  from  far-off  countries :  Japan,  I 
think  they  said,  and  China.  Think  of  the  poor 
sailors 

THERESE.     (Trembling)     The  sailors! 

JOEL.  (Disappointed)  Well,  you  don't  say  a 
word?  I  thought  you'd  be — I  am  stupid!  Aren't 
they  pretty? 

THERESE.  They're  too  pretty  !  You  are  so  good, 
Joel — too  good  for  me  ! 

JOEL.  (Rising)  Too  good?  Saints  in  Heaven, 
I'd  like  to  cover  you  with  silks  and  jewels !  But 
whatever  I  do,  you  still  look  pale  and  troubled. 
Why,  your  eyes  are  filled  with  tears — and  your 
cheek  is  wet.  You've  been  crying !  How  often 
you've  nearly  driven  me  mad.  I  thought  it  was  your 
mother's  death  and  I  said,  she'll  get  over  it !  Other 
people  aren't  always  mourning;  yours  never  stops. 

THERESE.  I  want  to  forget  these  sad  things. 
Now — see?  I'm  laughing.  (She  tries  to  smile  but 
bursts  into  tears) 

JOEL.  (Bitterly)  There  you  are,  worse  than 
before.  Tell  me,  what  is  troubling  you?  Would 
you  like  some  new  furniture  for  the  house?  More 
cows?  More  clothes?  Tell  me  what  you'd  like, 
and  I'll  get  it  for  you 


8  JEAX-MARIE. 

THERESE.  Everything  you  do  for  me  only  makes 
it  worse.  The  more  you  do  the  more  guilty  I  feel, 
Joel! 

JOEL.  (Surprised)  Guilty?  Why,  Therese. 
what ? 

THERESE.  I  am  keeping  an  awful  secret.  Often 
I've  blamed  myself — I've  thought  it  a  mortal  sin  to 
have  hidden  it  from  you 

JOEL.  \Yhat  do  you  mean?  A  secret?  If  it  has 
anything  to  do  with  me,  why  haven't  you  spoken 
about  it  before? 

THERESE.  The  very  day  I  promised  to  become 
your  wife,  Joel,  I  wanted  to  tell  you  everything,  but 
my  mother  was  afraid  and  told  me  to  keep  the  secret 
from  you.  It  was  wrong  of  me — but  now  I  must 
tell  you.  Some  years  ago,  there  was  a  young  fisher- 
man, who  lived  on  the  road  leading  to  the  "  Trois 
Etangs  ",  in  Kerlaz,  and  he  was  called  Jean-Marie. 
We  knew  each  other  and  played  together  as  children. 
After  a  time  we  were  engaged.  Jean-Marie  was  very 
poor  and  I  had  no  dowry — when  he  was  twenty  he 
became  a  sailor:  he  wanted,  he  said,  to  turn  his 
copper  sous  into  gold-pieces,  so  that  we  should  be 
able  to  live  in  good  style.  He  sailed  away  in  the 
'*  Roi-Gralon  ",  and  started  for  Japan.  That's  a 
great  way  off,  but  love  is  strong,  and  when  I  thought 
of  him  he  didn't  seem  so  far.  A  year  passed,  then 
two — I  was  waiting  for  him — then  I  heard  a  report 
about  him :  the  ship  had  been  wrecked  away  off 
somewhere.  Then  I  heard  nothing  more  of  Jean- 
Marie — that  was  all ! 

JOEL.  Who  knows?  Sometimes  lost  sailors  re- 
turn? 

THERESE.  I  tried  by  even*  means  to  find  out. 
I  prayed,  then  asked  questions  of  every  returning 
sailor;  Heaven  was  deaf,  and  I  learned  nothing. 
I  would  have  waited  for  him  always  if  I  hadn't  been 
sure  he  was  dead — (She  stops  for  a  moment.  JOEL 
ill-pleased,  listens  attentively;  then  she  resumes, 


JEAX-MARIE.  9 

speaking  to  herself)  and  yet — I  always  think  of 
him — do  what  I  will,  I  can't  help  it.  In  winter,  when 
I  hear  the  waves  moaning  on  the  shore,  I  think  I  hear 
his  voice ;  when  the  ships  come  into  the  harbor,  I 
always  ask  myself :  "  \Yhat  if  he  weren't  dead  ?  " 
(JoEL  sits  down,  uncertain  what  to  do)  I'm  so 
sorry !  I  beg  your  pardon !  It's  not  right ! 

JOEL.  Xot  right?  Oh,  no — only  I  see  how  mis- 
taken I  was.  Xow  I  understand  why  you  have 
cried  so  often — I  see  everything  now!  And  I 
thought  you  would  forget  your  sorrow7  if  I  brought 
these — these  toys !  (He  picks  up  the  silks,  etc.,  and 
folds  them  quickly)  Sometimes,  in  the  evening,  as  I 
counted  up  my  money,  I  used  to  think  that  we  could 
buy  some  fine  mirrors  for  the  house,  or  some  clothes' 
chests ;  and  Therese  would  smile.  Then  I  was  full 
of  hope,  but  now  I  see — !  You'll  never  be  cured, 
and  /  can't  struggle  against  the  thought!  (He 
thr&ii's  the  silks  on  the  floor  and  rises)  Ah,  my  old 
white  hairs !  If  only  I  were  young  again,  I'd  make 
you  forget — now  it's  too  late.  I'm  ugly,  I'm  sad, 
and  I'm  old.  If  I  were  twenty  once  again 

THERESE.  My  dear  Joel,  I  have  made  you  suffer 
for  a  long  time ;  but  now  I  want  to  make  you  happy : 
I  shall  be  a  good  and  faithful  wife  to  you.  You 
were  going  to  live  in  this  house  that  my  father  built, 
but  there  are  too  many  sad  memories  here.  Take 
me  away — to  your  home,  behind  the  Black  Hills,  into 
the  oak  forests — where  I  can't  see  the  harbor  or  the 
sea. 

JOEL.  Would  you  leave  your  home,  your  fields, 
all  this  dear  country ? 

THERESE.     Please  take  me  away ! 

JOEL.  But  it  means  exile,  and  you  can't  leave 
without  regrets. 

THERESE.    You  left  your  home  to  come  here. 

JOEL.    Yes — sometimes  I  do  regret  it. 

THERESE.    Then  let  us  go  there. 

JOEL.    Thank  you,  Therese,  but  these  things  can't 


io  JEAN-MARIE. 

be  decided  at  once.  I  can't  think  just  now — (He 
presses  his  hand  to  his  forehead)  My  old  head  is 
weak,  I'll  take  a  walk  in  the  cool  air,  and  then  tell 
you  what  I  think.  I'll  be  back  in  time  for  supper. 
(He  takes  her  hand,  then  goes  out,  right) 

THERESE.  (Going  to  the  window  and  arranging 
her  spindle)  Yes,  it  will  be  better;  I  must  forget 
you,  Jean-Marie!  How  hot  it  is!  (She  opens  the 
zvindow)  The  sea  looks  asleep — I  hear  the  moan- 
ing of  the  gulls !  There's  a  storm  in  the  air.  Joel 
is  so  good !  It  would  be  a  sin  to  give  him  my  hand 
and  not  my  soul.  I  must  make  his  home  happy,  and 
sing — (She  sighs)  But  I  know  only  sad  songs. 
(A  pause,  then  she  sings  softly:) 

"  The  Captain  brave  was  nearly  dead, 

Thru  th'  billows  did  he  roam, 
But  the  stout  ship  took  him  on  and  on 
Till  it  brought  him  to  port — and  home ! 

He  went  to  the  castle  and  knocked  on  the  gate 
Three  times  he  knocked  and  " 

(She  stops  suddenly)     Oh,  I  can't  forget  him! 

(JEAN-MARIE  appears  at  the  back.  He  stops  short 
on  the  threshold  to  look  at  THERESE.  Suddenly 
the  young  woman  turns  around  and  screams.) 

JEAN-MARIE.  Yes,  it's  I,  Therese!  My  dearest, 
it's  I. 

THERESE.     (Trembling)    Jean-Marie! 

JEAN-MARIE.  (Darting  toward  her)  At  last !  I 
see  you,  I  can  touch  you,  hear  your  voice! — I 
wanted  to  surprise  you — not  let  you  know  a  thing 
about  it.  I  left  the  ship  as  soon  as  I  could,  took  the 
short  path  through  the  fields — how  beautiful  they 
were !  When  I  saw  your  little  red  roof  through  the 
leaves,  I  could  hardly  stand  up!  (He  stops  and 


JEAN-MARIE.  11 

looks  intently  at  THERESE)  But — There! — You're 
so  pale  !  Why  don't  you  look  at  me  ?  Your  hands 
are  trembling?  Are  you  afraid? 

THERESE.  (Feebly)  At  first  I  thought  it  was 
your  ghost  standing  there — We  waited  so  long  for 
you — and  cried ! 

JEAN-MARIE.  I  too  thought  I  should  never  come 
back — it  was  only  a  miracle  that  saved  me.  We 
were  returning  from  China ;  we  couldn't  see  land, 
but  we  knew  it  was  near.  The  night  came  on,  and 
the  sky  was  threatening;  the  next  day  there  was  a 
thick  fog — thinking  we  were  still  some  distance  from 
land,  we  ran  on  to  a  shoal  and  the  ship  was  soon 
wrecked.  I  managed  to  save  myself,  with  three 
other  sailors.  Our  little  boat  tossed  about  for  a 
whole  day,  then  the  wind  sent  us  to  a  desert  island, 
where  for  months  we  almost  starved.  But  one  night 
we  saw  a  sail  on  the  horizon — It  was  life,  salvation ! 
God,  how  my  heart  beat  when  the  ship  answered  our 
signal  of  distress !  Wre  were  taken  on  board — the 
ship  was  on  its  way  back  to  the  Orient — I  was  one 
of  the  crew  and  I  didn't  want  to  come  back  home 
empty-handed.  I  said  to  myself :  "  It  will  be  for 
her !  "  And  I  worked  and  I  made  some  money.  I 
was  happy  too,  when  I  left — and  here  I  am.  How 
have  you  been  meantime?  Happy?  Calm?  Your 
fields  look  prosperous — (He  smiles)  Now  your 
father  can't  object  to  me  for  a  son-in-law? 

THERESE.     My  father  is  dead. 

JEAN-MARIE.  (Taking  off  his  cap)  So  soon? 
He  seemed  so  young  and  strong !  And  your  mother, 
old  Anna'ic? 

THERESE.    Last  winter  we  buried  her 

JEAN-MARIE.  Dead !  Both  dead !  And  I  was  so 
far  away  !  And  you  were  here  alone  to  mourn  them, 
without  help,  without  friends !  We  were  not  to- 
gether, Therese!  Now  I'm  home,  and  I  shan't  go 
away  again — my  Therese,  my  love!  Come — let  me 
hold  you ! 


12  JEAN-MARIE. 

THERESE.  (Stepping  back  in  terror)  No,  no. 
You  must  go  away. 

JEAN-MARIE.  (Incredulously)  You're  trying  to 
test  me?  Aren't  you?  Why  don't  you  say  some- 
thing? (He  seizes  her  hand  and  looks  intently  at 
her)  You — you  aren't  married,  are  you? 

THERESE.  Two  years  ago  this  coming  Christmas, 
I  married  old  Joel. 

JEAN-MARIE.  (Leaning  on  the  table)  Married ! 
Saints  in  Heaven ! 

THERESE.     (Supplicating  him)     Forgive  me! 

JEAN-MARIE.    The  wife  of  old  Joel ! 

THERESE.    Listen  to  me ! 

JEAN-MARIE.  (Quickly  rising)  Often  we  sailors 
talked  together,  at  night,  after  the  work  was  done, 
about  our  dear  ones  at  home ;  I  talked  about  my 
sweetheart,  who  was  waiting  for  me.  The  sailors 
made  fun  of  me,  and  told  me  she  was  perhaps  think- 
ing of  someone  else,  and  had  forgotten  me,  but  I 
answered :  "  No,  Therese  will  wait  for  me !  She 
will  not  forget  I  "  When  I  went  to  my  berth  the 
thousands  of  stars  somehow  comforted  me.  But 
you — you  thought  that  a  real  husband  was  better 
than  a  possible  one,  a  poor  boy  on  the  ocean.  The 
stars  lied  to  me !  Why  didn't  I  drown  when  I 
might  have?  I  should  have  died  without  learning 
of  this — Therese  has  sold  herself,  body  and  soul ! 

THERESE.    Listen  to  me ! 

JEAN-MARIE.  (Casting  her  aside)  No,  no,  I  am 
suffering  too  much !  Good-by,  I  must  go  away. 

THERESE.  (Intercepting  him  as  he  goes  to  the 
door)  Not  without  hearing  me !  Stay  here  !  If  the 
past  means  anything  to  you,  as  it  does  to  me,  you 
must  pity  me !  You  have  no  idea  what  tortures  I've 
suffered.  Just  think  my  parents  are  dead ;  I  had 
to  work  so  bard,  spinning ;  I  had  to  support  my  poor 
mother  through  her  sickness ;  we  had  to  sell  nearly 
everything ;  the  bailiffs  came — how  I  wanted  you — I 
was  so  heart-sick,  Jean-Marie !  I  prayed  and  wept 


JEAN-MARIE.  13 

for  you — but  your  ship  was  far  away  at  the  other 
end  of  the  world,  and  our  troubles  and  sorrows  were 
so  great  I  could  not  bear  the  burden.  Joel,  of  Loc- 
Ronan,  knew  of  our  misery  and  came  one  evening  to 
see  us — he  had  known  my  father  ever  since  they 
were  children  together.  He  offered  to  help,  and  my 
mother  accepted.  Then  he  came  often  to  see  us. 
One  day  we  were  alone  together,  and  he  took  my 
hand  in  his :  "  Your  mother  hasn't  much  longer  to 
live,"  he  said,  "  give  me  your  heart,  if  you  love  her 
and  want  to  help  her."  But  my  heart  was  'way  off 
on  the  ocean,  and  I  answered  him  only  with  sobs. 
Then  I  heard  of  your  shipwreck.  All  hope  was 
gone.  Every  day  Joel  came  and  repeated  his  offer. 
My  mother  said  nothing,  she  only  looked  at  me,  but 
her  look  was  a  prayer.  I  so  pitied  her — and  I  said, 
Yes — I  thought  I  was  going  to  die!  (A  pause. 
JEAN-MARIE,  who  sits  by  the  table,  hides  his  head 
in  his  hands) 

JEAN-MARIE.  What  have  we  done  to  be  punished 
like  this  ?  Heaven  should  have  helped  us.  We  loved 
each  other  so!  I  remember  how  we  sat  together 
under  the  tree — your  hand  in  mine ! 

THERESE.  (In  an  undertone)  We  mustn't  think 
of  that ! 

JEAN-MARIE.  (After  a  moment's  hesitation) 
But — does  he  make  you  happy?  If  I  knew  that  I 
shouldn't  suffer  so  much. 

THERESE.  (Aside)  I  must  lie! — Joel  is  very 
good  to  me — my  life  is  easy — our  home  is  peace- 

JEAN-MARIE.  Just  one  word  more:  forgive  me 
if  what  I  said  to  you  a  few  moments  ago,  hurt  you ! 
I  must  not  interfere  with  you.  I  ask  only  one  thing, 
Therese:  let  me  live  somewhere  near  you,  where  I 
can  sometimes  see  your  roof,  in  the  distance,  where 
I  can  perhaps  walk  past  the  house  and 

THERESE.  No,  you  must  not  stay — you  must  go 
at  once ! 


14  JEAN-MARIE. 

JEAN-MARIE.  Let  me  live  alone  in  some  quiet 
corner — no  one  need  know.  You  will  never  see  me  ! 

THERESE.    No,  no ! 

JEAN-MARIE.  I  swear  by  the  Holy  Virgin  I  shall 
never  say  or  do  a  thing  you  need  fear.  I  shall  be 
strong!  Would  you  think  me  capable  of — ? 
(THERESE  sadly  bows  her  head)  Then  what  are 
you  afraid  of  ? 

THERESE.    I  am  afraid  of  myself ! 

JEAN-MARIE.  (Darting  toward  her  and  taking 
her  hands)  Then  you  still  love  me  !  Don't  deny  it ! 
You  can't  forget  all  we've  meant  to  each  other.  Our 
love  is  not  the  kind  that  can  be  forgotten ;  nothing 
can  break  it — You  love  me ! 

THERESE.  (Overcome  by  her  feelings)  Jean- 
Marie  ! 

JEAN-MARIE.  You  believed  that  false  report  of 
my  death.  They  took  advantage  of  you,  and  your 
promise  therefore  was  no  promise.  He  took  you  by 
surprise,  and  you  had  no  right  to  consent !  Your 
heart  is  mine,  your  love  is  mine  alone ! 

THERESE.  Joel  is  my  husband,  and  my  heart  is 
his 

JEAN-MARIE.  But  listen  to  me:  the  Dutch 
schooner  that  brought  me  here  sails  to-night.  It  is 
full  of  emigrants,  poor  people  like  ourselves.  It's 
going  far  oft"  to  a  better  country.  Come — there  is  no 
one  here — it  will  soon  be  so  dark  that  no  one  can  see 
us — You  love  me  ! — Quick,  give  me  your  hand — 
come  with  me ! 

THERESE.  (Breaking  from  him)  What  are  you 
asking  me  to  do? 

JEAN-MARIE.     Let  us  go  away  together ! 

THERESE.    Leave  me — no  ! 

JEAN-MARIE.  But  what  can  keep  you  here? 
What  can  you  hope  for  ?  This  place  is  lonely — you 
are  young.  You  can't  deny  our  love.  Are  you 
willing  to  live  without  love,  without  family,  without 
hope? 


JEAN-MARIE.  15 

THERESE.  Jean  !  You  mustn't  say  those  things  to 
me ! 

JEAN-MARIE.  (Seising  her  hand  again)  Come! 
Let  us  make  a  new  home — across  the  ocean  !  Come  ! 
I  know  of  a  wonderful  island  in  the  Antilles.  There 
we  can  begin  our  life  and  be  happy  by  ourselves. 
We  can  have  our  own  farm.  Our  love  there — (He 
drags  her  toward  the  door  at  the  back) 

THERESE.  (Terrified)  Wait!  Please — I — I'm 
dizzy ! 

JEAN-MARIE.  Wait  ? !  We  haven't  time  !  Why 
should  we  wait?  Joel  will  be  here  soon 

THERESE.  (Freeing  herself  and  running  to  the 
opposite  side  of  the  stage)  Joel !  I  must  stay  !  Go 
now!  I  can't  go  with  you.  I — I  don't  want  to! 
Think  of  it :  he's  an  old  man,  and  I'm  his  only  hope, 
his  only  joy  in  life.  He  left  his  own  farm  to  come 
here  and  be  with  me.  Think,  too,  he  saved  us  when 
we  were  dying  of  hunger  and  cold.  Think :  I  swore 
to  be  his  faithful  wife.  What  if  he  returned  to-night 
and  found  the  house  deserted !  It  would  be  treason 
— he  might  even  die !  He  would  always  stand  be- 
tween us  and  our  happiness ! 

JEAN-MARIE.  (Bitterly)  And  I  thought  you 
loved  me ! 

THERESE.  Nothing  can  affect  the  love  I  feel  for 
you,  nothing  ever  did :  the  report  of  your  death 
made  no  difference  in  that !  If  I  did  what  you  ask 
me  to  do,  I  should  die  of  shame !  I  might  even  end 
by  hating  you !  No,  my  dearest,  we  must  part — 
now !  (She  kneels)  I  beg  you.  Let  me  keep  my 
love  for  you  as  pure  as  when  we  stood  together  and 
listened  to  the  Angelus.  Leave  me  now.  We  were 
never  intended  to  be  so  happy.  Go,  and  let  me  love 
you  still ! 

JEAN-MARIE.  (Taking  her  in  his  arms  and  rais- 
ing her  to  her  feet)  Good-by,  then. 

THERESE.     I  want  to  ask  you  to  make  one  final 


1 6  JEAN-MARIE. 

sacrifice :  no  one  here  knows  that  you  have  returned  ? 

JEAN-MARIE.    No  one. 

THERESE.  And  the  Dutch  schooner  leaves  to- 
night? (JEAN-MARIE  nods)  Well,  go  aboard  her 
again — no  one  need  ever  know  you  have  been  here. 
Let  everyone  think  you  dead — as  you  are  dead  to 
me. 

JEAN-MARIE.    I  shall  leave  to-night. 

THERESE.  God  watch  over  you ;  let  him  grant  you 
a  safe  voyage — my  thoughts  will  go  with  you.  (She 
supports  herself  on  the  table.  A  pause) 

JEAN-MARIE.  (At  the  door)  Therese!  (She 
turns  quickly  to  him)  Therese — let  me  kiss  you — 
for  the  last  time.  That  will  give  me  strength. 

THERESE.  (Feebly)  No!  (With  greater 
strength)  No! 

JEAN-MARIE.  Then — good-by !  For  the  last 
time.  (He  goes  slowly  out  and  disappears. 
THERESE  stands  motionless,  leaning  on  the  table. 
After  a  few  moments,  JOEL  comes  in,  left.  He 
shows  surprise) 

JOEL.    Alone  ? 

THERESE.     (Trembling)    Yes. 

JOEL.    I  thought  I  heard  voices  ? 

THERESE.  A  traveler  it  was,  who  had  lost  his 
way.  A  sailor — he  was  tired 

JOEL.    Did  you  ask  him  to  sit  down  and  rest  ? 

THERESE.    Yes. 

JOEL.  He  must  have  told  you  something  exciting 
— I  could  hear  you 

THERESE.  (After  a  moment  of  silence)  He  was 
once  a  sailor  on  the  "  Roi-Gralon  " — he  was  on 
board  when  it  was  wrecked.  I  was  asking  him 
about — Jean- Mar  ie- 


JOEL.     (Going  to  her)     Well ? 

THERESE.     He  will  never  come  back.     (She  sits 
down.    JOEL  takes  her  hands) 

CURTAIN. 


THE  WORLD'S  BEST  PLAYS 

By    Celebrated    European    Authors 


A  NEW  SERIES  OF  AMATEUR  PLAYS   BY  THE  BEST 
AUTHORS,   ANCIENT   AND   MODERN,   ESPECIALLY 
TRANSLATED  WITH  HISTORICAL  NOTES,  SUG- 
GESTIONS   FOR  STAGING,   Etc.,   FOR   THE 
USE    OF    SCHOOLS,    COLLEGES,    AND 
DRAMATIC  CLUBS 

BARRETT    H.     CLARK 

General     Editor 


w 


ITH  the  immensely  increased  demand  for  new 
plays  for  purposes  of  production  by  amateurs 
comes  a  correspondingly  great  demand  for  a  care- 
ful selection  of  those  plays  which  can  be  easily 
and  well  presented  by  clubs  and  colleges.  The 
plays  in  the  present  series  have  been  chosen  with 
regard  to  their  intrinsic  value  as  drama  and  liter- 
ature, and  at  the  same  time  to  their  adaptability  to  the  needs  and 
limitations  of  such  organizations. 

The  Series,  under  the  personal  supervision  of  Mr.  Barrett  H. 
Clark,  instructor  in  the  department  of  Dramatic  Literature  at 
Chautauq.ua,  New  York,  assistant  stage  manager  and  actor  with 
Mrs.  Fiske  (season  1912-1913),  now  comprises  ten  volumes,  and  fifteen 
more  will  make  their  appearance  during  the  year.  Eventually 
there  will  be  plays  from  ancient  Greece  and  Rome,  Italy,  Spain, 
France,  Russia,  Germany,  and  the  Scandinavian  countries,  repre- 
sentative of  some  of  the  best  drama  of  all  ages  and  lands. 

Each  volume  is  prefaced  by  a  concise  historical  note  by  Mr.  Clark, 
and  with  a  few  suggestions  for  staging. 


Plays    Now    Ready 

INDIAN  SUMMER,  a  comedy  in  one  act  by  MEILHAC  and 
HALEVT.  This  little  play,  by  two  of  the  most  famous  writers  of 
comedy  of  the  last  century,  has  been  played  at  the  Come'die  Fran- 
caise  at  Paris  for  upwards  of  forty  years,  and  remains  one  of  the 
brightest  and  most  popular  works  of  the  period.  PRICE  25  CKWTS. 

ROSALIE,  by  MAX  MAUREY.  A  "  Grand  Guignol "  comedy  in 
one  act,  full  of  verve  and  clever  dialogue.  Rosalie,  the  stubborn  maid, 
leads  her  none  too  amiable  master  and  mistress  into  uncomfortable 
complications  by  refusing  to  open  the  front  door  to  a  supposed  guest 
of  wealth  and  influence.  PRICK  25  CENTS. 

MODESTY,  by  PAUL  HERVIEU.  A  delightful  trifle  by  one  of  the 
most  celebrated  of  living  dramatists.  PRICE  25  CENTS. 

THE  ART  OF  BEING  BORED,  (Le  Monde  oil  Ton  s'Ennuit),  a 
comedy  in  three  acts  by  EDOUARD  PAILLERON.  Probably  the  best- 
known  and  most  frequently  acted  comedy  of  manners  In  the  realm 
of  nineteenth  century  French  drama.  It  is  replete  with  wit  and 
comic  situations.  For  nearly  forty  years  it  has  held  the  stage, 
while  countless  imitators  have  endeavored  to  reproduce  its  fresh- 
ness and  charm.  PRICE  25  CENTS. 

A  MARRIAGE  PROPOSAL,  by  ANTON  TCHEKHOFF,  a  comedy 
in  one  act,  by  one  of  the  greatest  of  modern  Russian  writers.  This 
little  farce  is  very  popular  in  Russia,  and  satirizes  the  peasants  of 
that  country  in  an  amusing  manner.  PRICE  25  CENTS. 

THE  GREEN  COAT,  by  ALFRED  DB  MUSSET  and  EMILE  AUGIER. 

A  slight  and  comic  character  sketch  of  the  life  of  Bohemian  artists 
in  Paris,  written  by  one  of  France's  greatest  poets  and  one  of  her 
best-known  dramatists.  PRICE  25  CENTS. 

THE  WAGER,  by  GIUSEPPE  GIAOOSA.  This  one  act  poetic 
comedy,  written  by  the  most  celebrated  dramatist  of  modern  Italy, 
was  the  author's  first  work.  It  treats  of  a  wager  made  by  a  proud 
young  page,  who  risks  his  life  on  the  outcome  of  a  game  of  chess. 
PRICE  25  CENTS. 


THE  LITTLE  SHEPHERDESS,  a  poetic  comedy  in  one  act, 
by  ANDRE  EIVOIRE.  A  charming  pastoral  sketch  by  a  well-known 
French  poet  and  dramatist.  Played  with  success  at  the  Come'die 
Francaise.  PRICE  25  CENTS. 

PHORMIO,  a  Latin  comedy  by  TERENCE.  An  up-to-date  version 
of  the  famous  comedy.  One  of  the  masterpieces  of  Latin  drama; 
the  story  of  a  father  who  returns  to  find  that  his  son  has  married 
a  slave  girl.  Phormio,  the  parasite- villain  who  causes  the  numerous 
comic  complications,  succeeds  in  unraveling  the  difficulties,  and 
all  ends  happily.  PRICE  25  CENTS. 

THE  TWINS,  a  Latin  farce  by  PLAFTUS,  upon  which  Shake- 
speare founded  his  Comedy  of  Errors.  PRICE  25  CENTS. 

THE  BOOR,  by  ANTON  TCHEKOFF.  A  well-known  farce  by  the 
celebrated  Russian  master;  it  is  concerned  with  Russian  peasants, 
and  portrays  with  masterly  skill  the  comic  side  of  country  life. 
PRICE  25  CENTS. 

THE  BLACK  PEARL,  by  VICTORIEN  SARDOTL  One  of  Sardou's 
most  famous  comedies  of  intrigue.  A  house  has,  it  is  thought, 
been  robbed.  But  through  skilful  investigation  it  is  found  that  the 
havoc  wrought  has  been  done  by  lightning.  PRICE  25  CENTS. 

CHARMING   LEANDRE,   by  THEODORE  DE  BANVILLE.    The 

author  of  "  Gringoire  "  is  here  seen  in  a  poetic  vein,  yet  the  French- 
man's innate  sense  of  humor  recalls,  In  this  satirical  little  play,  the 
genius  of  Moliere.  PRICE  25  CENTS. 

THE  POST-SCRIPTUM,  by  EMILE  ATJGIEB.  Of  this  one-act 
comedy  Professor  Brander  Matthews  writes:  "...  one 
of  the  brightest  and  most  brilliant  little  one-act  comedies  in  any 
language,  and  to  be  warmly  recommended  to  American  readers." 
PRICE  25  CENTS. 

THE  HOUSE  OF  FOURCHAMBAULT,  by  EMILE  AUGIER. 
One  of  the  greatest  of  recent  French  family  dramas.  Although  the 
play  is  serious  in  tone,  it  contains  touches  which  entitle  it  to  a 
position  among  the  best  comedies  of  manners  of  the  times.  PRICB 
CENTS. 


THE  DOCTOR  IN  SPITE  OF  HIMSELF,  by  MOLJKRE.  A 
famous  farce  by  the  greatest  of  French  dramatists.  Sganarelle  has 
to  be  beaten  before  he  will  acknowledge  that  he  is  a  doctor,  which 
he  is  not.  He  then  works  apparently  miraculous  cures.  The  play 
is  a  sharp  satire  on  the  medical  profession  in  the  17th  Century. 
PRIRE  25  CENTS. 

BRIGNOL  AND  HIS  DAUGHTER,  by  CAPUS.  The  first 
comedy  in  English  of  the  most  sprightly  and  satirical  of  present- 
day  French  dramatists.  PRICE  •CENTS. 

**v 

CHOOSING  A  CAREER,  by  G.  A.  DE  CAIIXAVET.  Written  by 
one  of  the  authors  of  "  Love  Watches."  A  farce  of  mistaken 
identity,  full  of  humorous  situations  and  bright  lines.  PRICE  25 

CENTS. 

FRENCH  WITHOUT  A  MASTER,  by  TRISTAN  BERNARD.  A 
clever  farce  by  one  of  the  most  successful  of  French  dramatists. 
It  is  concerned  with  the  difficulties  of  a  bogus-interpreter  who 
does  not  know  a  word  of  French.  PRICE  25  CENTS. 

PATER  NOSTER,  a  poetic  play  in  one  act,  by  FRANCOIS 
COPPEE.  A  pathetic  incident  of  the  time  of  the  Paris  Commune, 
in  1871.  PRICE  25  CENTS. 

THE  ROMANCERS,  a  comedy  in  three  acts,  by  EDMOND  ROS- 
TAND. New  translation  of  this  celebrated  and  charming  little 
romantic  play  by  the  famous  author  of  "Cyrano  Ce  Bergerac  "  and 
"  Chantecler."  PHICE  25  CENTS. 

THE  MERCHANT  GENTLEMAN,  (Le  Bourgeois  Gentil- 
homme),  by  MOLIERE.  New  translation  of  one  of  Moliere's  comic 
masterpieces,  a  play  which  is  peculiarly  well  adapted  to  amateur 
production.  PRICE  50  CENTS. 


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